


Turn and face the stranger

by wanderingflame



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Haircuts, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingflame/pseuds/wanderingflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“I should cut my hair.” The words are delivered as a statement, but with a hint of uncertainty.  Bucky is staring at the stew Steve made, his spoon unmoving in the bowl.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Steve blinks.  “If you want to, sure.  There's a barber I go to down the block--”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“No.” Bucky's fingers have tightened around the spoon.  If it were his left hand, the utensil would have bent by now.  He looks up, blue eyes intent on Steve.  “You can do it.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn and face the stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaciart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaciart/gifts).



> This was written for Kaci's amazing picture of Steve cutting Bucky's hair, which you can see on Tumblr [here](http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/82952398629)!
> 
> Thanks to [Ark](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ark) for beta-ing this for me, and for demanding that I write for these boys.
> 
> And now with a [translation in Vietnamese](http://blueskyandpudding.tumblr.com/post/85994614643/stucky-fic-turn-and-face-the-stranger) by blueskyandpudding! <3

The music coming from Steve's speakers is mellow, another recommendation from Sam. Steve's only half-listening, his attention divided between the music, the book in his lap, and the shower down the hall. He's aware that it's been running for a while but reminds himself that sometimes Bucky needs space. If he thinks the only way to get it is to create a wall of water between him and the rest of the world, so be it.

The learning curve has been steep since Bucky first arrived at Steve's door, but Steve is trying. Trying to accept that he can't fix Bucky overnight, that he may not be able to at all. The memories have trickled in, sometimes with Steve's prompting, sometimes completely unbidden. All Steve can do is be there for Bucky, the lighthouse that stands firm and shows him where safety lies.

The water cuts off and Steve tries to focus on his book so it isn't obvious he's been silently wondering. He hears the bathroom door open but not the footsteps that follow; for Bucky, old habits have been hard to break.

“I'm ready.” It's only been two weeks since Bucky showed up and Steve's done most of the talking. Bucky's voice is rough from disuse, but there's an underlying note of tension that makes Steve wary as he turns in his seat.

Bucky is barefoot and shirtless, wearing the same black slacks he had on earlier. The towel is draped over his shoulders and he clutches the corners in his mismatched fists. He looks grim and it takes Steve a minute to put the expression and the words together and remember their conversation from the other day.

~

“ _I should cut my hair.” The words are delivered as a statement, but with a hint of uncertainty. Bucky is staring at the stew Steve made, his spoon unmoving in the bowl._

_Steve blinks. “If you want to, sure. There's a barber I go to down the block--”_

“ _No.” Bucky's fingers have tightened around the spoon. If it were his left hand, the utensil would have bent by now. He looks up, blue eyes intent on Steve. “You can do it.” Again, there's a half-question hidden in the words._

_Steve feels a fond smile tug at his lips. “Yeah, I can do it. I used to, before the war, when we didn't have the money.”_

_Bucky nods, as if Steve's words have confirmed a half-remembered scene in his own mind, and then he resumes eating._

 ~

Aware that Bucky is still waiting for a response, Steve sets his book aside and stands. “Let me get the scissors.”

Bucky watches Steve move around the apartment, grabbing a stool and the scissors, but the feeling is a familiar one. Even before they both fell to their supposed deaths, Bucky's eyes on Steve were a constant, as he watched over him on the battlefield.

Steve chooses the far corner of the apartment's main room, because it has a view of both windows and the door. He sets the stool as close to the walls as he can, while still leaving room for himself, and then gives Bucky what he hopes is a relaxed smile. “Ready when you are.”

Bucky looks about as enthused as someone getting a tooth pulled, but he stalks over. When he sits, his shoulders instinctively hunch forward and he releases the towel to grip his knees. His whole body radiates tension like a coiled spring.

Steve begins to doubt that this will work. “You know, it's been a while since I've cut anyone's hair. It might not be even.”

Bucky shrugs, the movement slight enough not to dislodge the towel. Steve wonders if he kept it because of his still-dripping hair, or for the meager protection it provides. He hasn't acted as if he's body-conscious—the old Bucky certainly never was—but he's particular when it comes to his left arm. Some days he hardly seems aware that it's different, other days he'll jerk away if Steve is too close to that side.

Steve reaches out to run his fingers through damp hair and that's when Bucky moves. Not to defend himself, as Steve would expect, but to clamp his hands on either side of the stool. His shoulders are still hunched but he stays seated.

Steve lets Bucky's hair slip through his fingers, resting his other hand on Bucky's back. He can feel the tension vibrating just under Bucky's skin, but whether it's fight or flight, it makes him ache all the same. He wants to wrap his arms around Bucky, hold him until he understands that it'll be okay, he'll recover from this, and that Steve will be there through it all.

But touch is still something Bucky is learning to endure so Steve resists the desire to pull him closer. Instead, he trails his fingers through Bucky's hair again, hoping the sensation is as soothing as he intends it to be. “How much did you want off?”

The silence stretches on long enough that Steve isn't sure if Bucky will even answer. Then he says, very quietly, “I trust you.”

Steve's hand stills and he has to swallow past the sudden tightness in his throat. He knows Bucky isn't referring to the length of his hair. The fact that he's even sitting here with his back to Steve, a man who was a target only weeks ago, speaks volumes on its own.

Slowly, knowing it won't take much to set Bucky off, Steve begins to cut. The scissors feel tiny in his hand but they do a fair job. He'd found them in the corner store, in a basket of school supplies, after realizing Bucky probably wouldn't accept kitchen shears near his unprotected neck.

At first, every snip of the scissors is echoed by a creak from the stool as Bucky's grip on it tightens. Steve wonders what will snap first, Bucky or the stool, but as the haircut progresses, he hears the noise less and less. The music continues to play in the background and Steve hums along. If Bucky minds, he doesn't say. In fact, his eyes are half-closed, as if lulled by the sound, so Steve is surprised when he speaks.

“Guess this is easier now, with you being taller.”

Steve freezes with a lock of hair caught between two fingers, but Bucky hardly seems aware that he's spoken. Steve allows himself a small smile. “I never minded, Buck.”

Bucky's eyes open and focus on Steve. The look in them is so vulnerable, Steve has to resist another urge to crush in him a hug. He hopes the warmth in his smile says enough as he steps around to Bucky's other side. When the quiet _snip-snip_ of the scissors resumes, Bucky looks down; gradually, his eyes flutter closed.

Steve finishes as the cd loops back to the first track. Bucky's shoulders have relaxed and his grip on the stool has loosened. Steve tucks the scissors in his pocket and combs through Bucky's hair with his fingers, brushing aside any remaining clippings. When that doesn't earn a reaction, he moves his hands to the towel.

Bucky sucks in a ragged breath when it's removed form his shoulders, but he doesn't dart away when Steve begins to dab at the damp ends of his hair. Feeling emboldened, Steve inches the towel higher until he is massaging Bucky's scalp through the cloth. He hums through another song as he works and by the end, Bucky is relaxed again.

In the old days, Steve would've swatted the back of his head to signal the haircut was over. Now, he pulls the towel away and bends to press his lips to the now-bare nape of Bucky's neck. It's impulsive, meant almost as a benediction, but it's also incredibly intimate. Steve's face burns as he straightens. Bucky has gone still again but Steve decides to play it cool, or as cool as he can when he's blushing so fiercely. He heads for the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Come see what you think.”

He shakes bits of hair into the tub and when he turns from hanging the towel, Bucky is in the doorway. He's not looking at Steve, though. His eyes are locked on the mirror as he cautiously steps in to face it.

Parted on the left and swept over, the new look is similar to how Bucky had worn his hair before the war, but longer on the sides and back. A few pieces on top curl out of place to hang above his right eye. It's similar but different enough, at least that's Steve's hope. Giving Bucky the same haircut he'd had back in the day hadn't felt right. This person standing in Steve's bathroom isn't that man, but he also isn't the Winter Soldier, at least not anymore.

Bucky stares long enough at his reflection to make worry gnaw at Steve. Should he have cut it shorter? Left it parted in the center? He wonders if Bucky is struggling with memories that have surfaced at the sight of himself. He would leave, give Bucky time to himself, but his only way out is blocked. So, Steve waits.

When Bucky eventually glances away from the mirror, he blinks at Steve, as if he'd forgotten there was someone else in the room. The haircut makes him look less ragged, but the weary lines around his eyes remain. Finding his way through the broken memories and bits of programming left inside his head has been an exhausting process.

Bucky looks at his reflection again and then tentatively runs his fingers through his hair, sweeping back the pieces that had fallen out of place. The gesture is achingly familiar to Steve, but Bucky looks to be trying it out for the first time.

Steve realizes he's been holding his breath when Bucky finally turns and smiles. It's a fragile, tiny thing, but it's a smile all the same, and the sight makes Steve’s pent-up breath rush free.

“Not bad,” Bucky says, “for a punk."

Steve throat is tight but he grins so broadly his cheeks ache. “Jerk.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky's new style was fashioned after Sebastian Stan's hair from his time on Broadway. [Here's an example](http://25.media.tumblr.com/0d779cc6524526374ba706fb30b38a0f/tumblr_mfejzzyB481qabls9o1_500.png).


End file.
